


Certain as the Sun

by rua100



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beauty and the Beast Elements, How Do I Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 13:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15631698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rua100/pseuds/rua100
Summary: Once upon a time in a far-away realm, a prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had all the power his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish and arrogant.Thor Odinson. You have betrayed the express command of your King.AKA Thor is banished to earth and ends up ruining a different physicist's life





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes so this is my first attempt at a proper fic, don't know why I had to be so ambitious as to make it a thorbruce kinda/sorta/maybe beauty and the beast AU that still takes place in canon but we're here for a good time not for a long time.  
> I'm on tumblr at thotgodofthunder.tumblr.com.

Once upon a time in a far-away realm, a prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had all the power his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish and arrogant.

_Thor Odinson. You have betrayed the express command of your King._

But then one fateful night, whereupon the prince chose his own lust for blood and glory over his duty to uphold peace across the worlds, his father saw that there was no worth in his heart.

_Through your arrogance and stupidity you have opened these peaceful realms and innocent lives to the horror and desolation of war._

He banished him from his home and placed a terrible spell upon him, that all of his might would be taken away.

_You are unworthy of this realm. You are unworthy of your title. You are unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed._

The weapon that had been taken from him was enchanted; the hammer Mjolnir would remain within his reach, and if he could learn to respect all people and to protect all life then the banishment would be broken.

_I now take from you your power. In the name of my father and his father before, I, Odin All-father cast you out!_

If not then he would be doomed to a mortal life.

_Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor._

It was a cruel curse, and a hopeless banishment, for how could such a beast ever be worthy?


	2. Bonjour

“Bonjour!” Bruce smiles brightly as he greets the elderly woman behind the counter of the bakery “Uhh une baguette et un croissant… s’il vous plait?” She gives him a curt nod and a more somber greeting in return, wastes no time in handing him his paper bag of bread and pastry and taking his handful of change. Bruce leaves her with an enthusiastic ‘merci!’ and heads away. He’s in a pretty chipper mood this morning and he thinks that’s fair, after all he’s gotten all of his errands completed and he’s exhausted all of his knowledge of French for the day – that’s pretty productive by his standards.

He strolls down the narrow old cobbled streets of the small Northern French town he’s relocated to and he allows himself to feel content. He marvels at the beautiful architecture, breathes in the clean, wine-scented air and quite literally stops to smell the roses that adorn almost every wall and windowsill. Bruce sees no point in trying to blend in, with his limited French, new face and all-around Tourist™ vibe he’s immediately recognizable as an outsider. He can still, of course, make himself seem non-threatening, so to every person he meets on the street he gives a polite smile or a cheerful greeting, and most of the locals are polite enough to return the gesture. Of course with every tip of the hat in his direction that he receives, there’s always a pair of sharp eyes behind it, sizing him up, questioning him. He doesn’t find it unusual though, the town is a quiet, rural one, not a tourist location like Paris or Nice where an unfamiliar stranger with an American accent would be part of daily life. Bruce is glad his few attempts to speak more than a few sentences of the local language have been so abysmal that no one sees any point in confronting and questioning him; hopefully they just assume he’s a writer or an artist searching the French countryside for inspiration or peace of mind or whatever. Yes fresh air and beautiful landscapes are nice, but the innate curiosity of humans is much less welcome. Bruce is quite content staying in the isolated old cottage in the forest outside of town, away from any eyes that might pry too far. It’s lonelier than the apartment he’d occupied whilst in Brazil, but thinking about how his stay in that country ended, he knows it’s for the best.

After a short walk Bruce had made his way out of town and through the woodland to get back to the cottage. He felt a small bit of pride in himself when he looked at it. It had been pretty run down when he’d first stumbled across it, with holes in the roof and smashed in windows, left alone for so long that weeds and bushes had almost swallowed it whole. Inside was dark and dusty of course, and what little furniture there was didn’t look like it would support even the weight of a mouse. There wasn’t much else inside, no remaining personal items, photos or notches on a wall that gave Bruce any information on its original owner. He didn’t even know who the current owner was. Sure technically he was squatting there, but he didn’t foresee himself hanging around long enough for that to be a serious problem. His first week there had been a tireless one but it had certainly paid off -nowadays the cottage only looked semi-dilapidated. He had busied himself with patching up holes in the roof, boarding up windows and replacing the furniture with wooden crates and pallets (if they were good enough furniture for Brooklyn hipsters then they were good enough for his homeless ass). He had spent a fair chunk of his money on a simple generator for electricity and was hoping to buy himself some materials to fashion a pump for running water. As for the weeds, he had cut them back slightly, before he decided that they did a great job of concealing his hideout (he was kidding himself really, it was just too much effort and it was safe to say that he didn’t have much of a green thumb). 

Bruce set his shopping down on the “table” then he moved the few books he had picked up from the library into the second (and only other) room. He piled them up in the corner with a few of his journals and his laptop. He visited the library every few days, without much else to do out here he tended to get through the books pretty quickly. Much to his disappointment the library didn’t have much else in the English language section other than Shakespeare so he had picked up Hamlet for what was probably the fourth time now. He was working on getting through a French novel though, but translating every second word using a dictionary was pretty tedious, so he was still only on the first chapter of La Belle et la Bête.

Today though he had noticed that the librarian had a selection of international newspapers in and he had managed to root through and find a copy of the New York Times. It was a month old but that really wouldn’t make much of a difference to Bruce, it was all news to him. He sat down in the kitchen by one of the few un-boarded windows and began to skim through it. It had obviously been a slow news day when it was printed, only a few minor celebrity scandals, a big law firm gone bust, a former senator had passed away, not even a mention of that billionaire turned superhero. Bruce had just decided to cut to the chase and skip forward to the crossword section when he spotted the name tucked away in the corner of the page. His entire arm locked up and his fist clenched and crumpled the paper. He stared at the text without blinking, barely breathing, hair standing on end. There it was a name he had done everything to avoid, the name of a man who had ruined his life and wanted nothing more than to end it. General Thaddeus Ross it said right there clear as day.

The sudden confrontation of the name was terrifying in and of itself, in a fraction of a second Bruce was out of his little cottage in the French woodlands and back in Harlem, back in Brazil, back out of his body and out of control. All he could remember was the feeling of being hunted and hated and manipulated, of losing his career, of losing Betty. He couldn’t even read what the article was discussing, couldn’t link the words ‘task force’ and ‘U.N.’ and ‘SHIELD’ to make any sense in his head. Yet still, all of that paled in comparison to the fear and shock he felt when he realised he could hear and feel his own heart thudding in his chest, beating far, far too fast.

He threw the paper away from him and stumbled away from the table. He began taking in deep breaths, clearing his head, closing his eyes, practicing every little trick he had cultivated over the years to keep the Other Guy held at bay. But it had been far too long for his other half and he could feel him now in his head, punching and kicking at his skull, smashing at his brain. Bruce held his fingers to his wrist and tried not to stress himself over the fact that his pulse was not slowing. He shoved open the front door and hurried away from the house, he was still in control but he wanted to get as far into the woods as he possibly could. He couldn’t have an incident, not now, it had been so long since his last one.

After who knows how long of tripping through the undergrowth Bruce found himself at a small stream, the water was clear and it was still early enough in the morning that the sounds of songbirds still accompanied its gentle trickle. There was barely an inch of ground that wasn’t populated by colourful wildflowers, all illuminated by a gentle beam of sunlight coming through the foliage above. It was peaceful. It was perfect. Bruce slumped down against a tree, his chest heaving and his fists clenched and he began to count.

1…2…3…4…5…

He couldn’t even bear to open his eyes, too scared that he would look at his wrists and see his veins alight with his own toxic blood. That was the point where he knew he was done for. 

98…99…100…101…102…

His head feels better now. He’s getting some air into his lungs now. His pulse seems to be slowing now.

256…257…258…259…260

He might start to grow vegetables out behind the house, there’s plenty of space and he’s sure one of the farmers from the market would be happy to give him a few tips.

483…484…485…486…487

Breathe in, breathe out. He forgot to get eggs while he was in town.

676…677…678…679…680

He should get a radio. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t gotten one already, it shouldn’t be too difficult to set up an aerial.

810…811…812…813…814

He doesn’t know what he’s going to eat for dinner.

995…996…997…998…999

He peels open his eyes.

1000

He can’t feel the hulk.

He lets himself fall sideways before rolling onto his back to stare up at the sliver of sky he can see through the trees. He brings his wrist up to for a second before letting it fall back down – no green veins. He lets out a heavy sigh of relief - that had been far too close. Far too close over nothing as well, just letters on a page. A name. He feels like an idiot -a selfish, far too complacent idiot. He wipes away tears he hadn’t even realised had escaped from his cheeks and lets his heavy eyelids fall closed again. This time he doesn’t need to count to relax, exhaustion takes him in moments.

**********************************************************************************

When Bruce finally stirs it’s dusk. He must have been a lot more run-down than he thought, if he’d literally slept the whole day through; it even seems that he’s gotten a better sleep here on the mossy forest floor than he ever did on his insult to a bed back in the cottage. With a groan and an embarrassing amount of effort he sits up and splashes some of the fresh cold water into his face to wake himself up before he heads back home (for lack of a better word).

It takes him about fifteen minutes to find his way back. It’s not hard, he left himself a clear trail of destruction, he’s just surprised that he’d gotten that far away. The sun has completely set by the time he sees the outline of the small building through the trees ahead and by the time he steps into the clearing he’s formed a plan of action for that evening: first he’s going to burn that damned newspaper, second he’s going to eat all the food he has because he is starving and three he’s going to find somewhere to buy a radio because having classical music playing 24/7 is really something he thinks would work for his anger issues.

Bruce never gets to do any of these things. He’s at the front door when he feels the wind suddenly pick up, when he feels a sudden sensation of electricity in the air. If he’d been given longer to think about it then he would have said it was the makings of a storm, but in less than a nanosecond it’s proven to him that that is very much not the case, because suddenly a massive beam of light erupts from the night sky. Its only there for a moment but Bruce already has the image of it impressed upon his memory; it strikes the earth with a powerful crack, decimating the trees in its path. It radiates every colour on the spectrum and it looks like a massive whirlwind, burning and changing. It’s like some higher power took hold of the Aurora Borealis and rolled it up into a whip. Even a man without seven Phds would immediately recognise that it was not of this world. He knows that something like this shouldn’t be appearing before him, that he is witnessing something much bigger than himself, yet somehow there’s something about it that suggests to him that it’s not dangerous, that it’s not going to set the forest alight like a bolt of lightning or tear it apart like a tornado. This doesn’t scare Bruce Banner - which is a very good thing.

The beam of light has no sooner touched the ground before its retreating back into the stars, back to wherever it came from and suddenly the forest is dark and silent again, and Bruce is left standing, with his hand on the door handle, staring into the sky where it had just been split apart. After a moment of understandably stunned silence he sets of back into the woods heading towards the site where the light had struck. Food can wait, science comes first.

**********************************************************************************

Less than a mile away, another man tries to pick himself up off the ground after a rough landing but his elbows give way beneath him and so he rolls over onto his back and stares back up into the stars. He tilts his head to look at the minuscule trees that surround him. He hears the faint noises of tiny creatures moving about in the undergrowth. He feels the cool air on his face and the soft earth beneath him. He hasn’t felt these things in a thousand years.

“Oh no, this is Earth isn’t it?” groans the God of Thunder before he passes out.


	3. The Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm already a bit behind on this fic but I think I'm finally happy with this chapter even if it is still a bit short. Thanks to everyone who left comments or Kudos or bookmarks or thanks for just reading it in general :) Hope you like this one!

The symbol on the ground left Bruce at a loss for words. He was certainly no expert but it looked to him like Celtic or Norse knotwork, intricate lines weaved together, perfectly symmetrical and pristine. It was beautiful. It would have taken a pretty long time to complete. 

But then how was there still glowing embers and a stench of burnt earth suggesting it had to have been placed there just recently? 

And this was the spot where that _thing_ had struck so that must have been what made the mark. But how could that be? A beam of light coming down from the sky, burning the bushes and trees in its path to sear some traditional artwork into the soil with such artistic precision? It made no sense to Bruce and it sincerely bothered him that the best his scientific mind could come up with was _‘uhhh lasers maybe?’._

Of course he shouldn’t have been so bogged down by the design on the ground but in his defence he was just putting off having to question the presence of _the guy lying right there at the centre of it._

His first instinct is that the man is dead and he’s just stumbled across a horrible ritualistic murder in a scene straight out of the first five minutes of an episode of Criminal Minds. And really being the sole-witness to a potentially occult homicide in a foreign country where he’s the odd stranger who lives in a literal cabin in the woods is not what Bruce Banner needs for his blood pressure right now – especially when he hasn’t eaten all day. Naturally that’s the worst case scenario and maybe this guy is just...drunk?

He decides he’s spent enough time thinking about the strange sight before him and he should maybe just get to investigating.

Bruce kneels beside the guy and feels for a pulse – it’s there, in fact, it’s actually pretty strong. He breathes a sigh of relief. He looks the man up and down but sees no visible wounds; he proceeds to gently but quickly examine the man further: there are no head or neck injuries, no broken limbs and no blood in sight. Bruce doesn’t roll him over to check for back injuries as a precaution but intuition already tells him that the man is physically fine; he had probably just fainted, who knows, maybe he had seen the strange light too? 

Bruce stands back up and actually takes in the man’s appearance for the first time; even with him lying flat on his back he can tell he’s big and well-built and he’s got long blonde hair and a scruffy beard – he looks like a lumberjack, more specifically he looks like a lumberjack that was good looking enough to make it into a Sexy Lumberjacks calendar alongside all the fake male-model lumberjacks. Bruce cuts off this line of thought; after all it’s not immediately relevant to the fact that the man is currently lying unconscious on the ground in the middle of the woods.

Bruce is still debating whether or not he should risk moving the man – if he even could move him – when the man lets out a deep groan and raises his hands to his now furrowed brow. _' He’s waking up'_ Bruce thinks, taking a step back to give the man some space.

“Hey…?” He asks softly “Hey are you alright?”

The man’s eyes open and he sits up quickly, as if waking from a nightmare.

“Careful!” Bruce says, “You might be injured, don’t worry I’m a…” Bruce doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before the man is up on his feet, towering over him. His eyes are a strong blue and they rest on Bruce for a fraction of a second before he looks away. He doesn’t say anything –at least not anything that Bruce can understand- but he does seem to be muttering under his breath in what sounds more like a growl than actual language; half stumbling, he swivels around to look at the surrounding woods, up into the sky, down to the ground - he spares as much of a glance to the strange design on the ground as he did to Bruce. 

Really hoping the man speaks English, Bruce tries again “Is everything alright? I’m a doctor I can hel-“

“HAMMER!” The man bellows suddenly, Bruce nearly stumbles backwards at the strength of his voice, surprising, given he was out cold less than a minute ago. 

“HAMMER!” he roars again “Father! Heimdall! I know you can hear me open the bifrost!” 

Bruce, suddenly feels a shiver run up his back, the man’s behaviour is putting him on edge, the way he completely ignored him, the erratic way he’s shouting upwards, his aggression, his volume… Bruce feels intensely uncomfortable, he knows he needs to de-escalate the situation before it gets out of hand and his inevitable ‘fight or fight’ response kicks in.

“You there!” Bruce turns his attention back to the man who is finally facing him “Where is my hammer?” he asks forcefully. 

Bruce really has no idea how to approach this “I don’t know where your hammer is, I’m sorry… why don’t you tell me your name and how you got here and I can try to help you?” Bruce says it slowly and calmly, he needs to steer this encounter in his direction, calm the man down, he’d taken a crash course in psychology in university so he had a decent grasp on the basics.

“My name?” The man says incredulously, eyebrows furrowing – well there goes Bruce’s so-called expertise, he’s only gone and made him angrier.

“How can you not know who I am?” he shouts (well for Bruce it would be a shout, on this guy it seems like it’s his inside voice). “ I am Thor! Son of-”

“OK, OK sorry. Thor? You should sit down and take a rest you could be…” Bruce trails off as the man-Thor- scoffs and strides past him, apparently deciding that giving Bruce any acknowledgment at all was a waste of his time.

Bruce can’t help but feel a little offended. He watches as Thor stops and stares deep into the dark woods, his broad shoulders squared and his fists clenched and for the first time since he woke he’s quiet and seemingly pensive. For just a moment Bruce thinks that the man seems less angry and more scared, less frightening and more human. Maybe he just needs comfort not questioning.

It’s in this moment that Bruce slips up.

“Thor?” he says gently as he steps forward and reaches out, softly placing his hand on the man’s arm.

Thor erupts like a volcano “Get your hands off me you-!” he roars as he spins and uses the same arm to harshly shove Bruce away, sending the smaller man stumbling back several feet and hitting the ground with a loud grunt.

Bruce is fine – just winded really- and is already trying to get back up, ready to apologise to Thor; after all he was the one who had had the lapse in judgment and who had approached a man who clearly didn’t want to be approached. He’s not hurt, just a little embarrassed. Everything is fine. Bruce knows this… unfortunately the other guy doesn’t.

Maybe it was just the day he’d had, he hadn’t eaten since morning and he’d had a sore back from a long impromptu nap in the woods. Maybe it was just the events of the past hour: a bizarre light descending from the sky, strange symbols scorched into the forest floor and an angry man shouting at the stars. Or maybe this was just long overdue, after all this morning it had almost occurred because of one man’s name, maybe Bruce had just been standing on the edge of a cliff waiting for the slightest push… and he had just been pushed pretty hard.

There’s no time for the breathing exercises or the counting. There’s no time to pick himself up off the ground and flee as far into the darkness of the forest as he can. There’s no time to scream at the other man to run in the opposite direction. No, there’s less than a second of realization before he can hear his own radioactive pulse pounding, feel his bones cracking and his muscles stretching. Through teary eyes he sees the green tint spreading down his forearms and onto his hands, now clenching the marked earth he had been so focused on earlier and they’re growing and growing and growing. Bruce Banner has no sooner realised what is happening then he is gone, and the Hulk is out of his head and in control of his body.


	4. The Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read, commented, etc. on the last chapter! :) I hope you're liking it. I'm upping the rating to Teen, just cause I'm not too sure. Also just a warning for mentions of past child abuse at the start of this chapter, just the first two or three paragraphs.

When Bruce was a kid his father would sometimes grab him by the arm and drag him to the bathroom. While he filled the sink with cold water and shouted profanities at him, Bruce would have to cower in the corner of the room and beg to be left alone. The old man never listened. Instead he would snatch a handful of Bruce’s curly hair and force his head under the water and hold it there. Bruce knew his eyes were open, but he wasn’t really seeing. He knew he was screaming, but he couldn’t be heard. He knew his arms and legs were flailing and lashing out, but he had no control over them. He had no control over any of it. 

Years later he would realise this was how it felt to be the Hulk.

He would catch glimpses of things he didn’t understand, with muted colours and dulled sounds. He could feel his body moving but had no idea what he was doing. He would be afraid – afraid and panicked and so so angry.

The recovery was the same as well. Bruce saw no difference between coming to awareness on a grimy bathroom floor, bruised and soaked to the bone and coming to on the outskirts of nowhere, covered in dirt and dripping in sweat. The only difference of course, being that as a child his mother would be there, and she would hold him and apologise to him as he sobbed and tell him that it wouldn’t happen again, whereas after the Hulk, he would always be alone.

Except he wasn’t alone this time.

He wakes up and sees that his shirt had been ripped off, of course, but his trousers remained intact. He’s not covered in blood- his own or anybody else’s. His head is pounding and his mouth is dry, but these things are par for the course.

Upon completion of the self-examination part of his awakening – he turns to the self-hatred aspect. As always, he is furious for having allowed himself become furious in the first place, then he is overwhelmed with fear when he thinks of the man in the woods. _‘Thor’ _. For a moment his blood runs cold and his stomach turns when he begins to realise what he may have done.  
His panic is halted in its tracks however, when he realises that he is not sprawled on the cold ground, exposed to the elements as he always seems to end up, but laying on his own not-bed in his own illegally occupied cottage. __

__He sits up so quickly that his eyes lose focus and there’s a stinging noise in his ears. He rubs his temples and breathes deeply until the faint feeling vanishes. He doesn’t want to start thinking about how he got here, whether he had ever actually left or whether he was either after having an exceptionally weird nightmare or he was just losing his mind. He shakes the thoughts out of his head and moves to stand up from the bed._ _

__And that’s when he sees Thor._ _

__He looks like he’s made himself perfectly comfortable, sitting by the doorway, legs stretched out, back against the wall and arms crossed. If his eyes were closed Bruce would have just assumed he was napping, but they’re not, they’re locked and focused on him with such force that you would think he was trying to keep him at bay with the gaze. They’re not filled with any fear or panic, just a sort of weariness. That’s something else to add to the list of what makes this guy weird as hell._ _

__Despite being the one that just woke up to find a strange man in their house, Bruce is the one to speak first._ _

__“What happened?”_ _

__“I’d wager you know more about it than I” says Thor, and although he’s speaking quietly his voice is still controlled and intimidating. “You were the one that transformed into a monster.”_ _

__Bruce rubs his temple “I know that. What happened then? Did I hurt you?”_ _

__“No” says Thor, harshly and just a bit too quickly. Bruce takes another glance at where his leg is stretched out, resting on the end of the bed._ _

__“I saw it best to avoid conflict” Thor says slowly, choosing his words carefully “You were acting unreasonably so I let you off. Rest assured if I had had my hammer then things would have gone differently.”_ _

__All of it said with a sting of wounded pride, it’s not hard for Bruce to translate – Thor had tried to beat the Hulk, got a nasty shock and decided it best to avoid his wrath._ _

__“That wasn’t me. That was... someone else. I had no control over what he did.” It’s as close to an apology as Bruce is willing to give the man. “How did I end up here?”_ _

__“I brought you here. It was not difficult to find you after you fled.”_ _

__“What does that mean?”_ _

__“I simply followed the trail of destruction.”_ _

__Bruce’s jaw clenches “Again, what does that mean?”_ _

__Thor seems unaffected by Bruce’s intentional abrasiveness “I found you on the edge of town. You’d leapt out of the forest and then you’d torn through the farmland, leaving trampled vineyards and crumpled machinery and outhouses in your wake. Not too mention of course, the terrified witnesses…”_ _

__The blood drains out of Bruce’s face and his heart catches in his throat “Witnesses?”_ _

__Thor fails to conceal a smirk and for a moment there's a weird gleam in his eye._ _

__“The cattle.” He says proudly, as if he’s delivering the punchline to a hilarious joke and not just being an ass to Bruce for wanting some answers._ _

__“That’s not funny.”_ _

__“Then why did you do it?” Well at least he's back to his grumpy self._ _

__“I told you – It wasn’t me. Now why did you bring me here?”_ _

__“Curiosity.” Says Thor simply “I have never seen a shapeshifter like you before. Also, you were present when I… arrived, were you not? You must have seen my hammer. I came across this abandoned place and thought it a good place to question you.”_ _

__“This is my place.”_ _

__“Oh,” says Thor finally taking his piercing stare off of Bruce for the first time in the whole conversation to cast a disdainful glance around the cottage “not much, is it?”_ _

__This guy really had an unnatural talent for making his blood boil. Bruce gets to his feet and stands before Thor, and this time he’s the one with the height advantage and he’s the one not bothering with manners._ _

__“I’m not going to entertain your curiosity and I told you I don’t know where your damn hammer is, so why don’t you get out of here before you make me angry again and this time you’re not able to just run and hide” he snaps._ _

__Thor looks up and the poker face he’d managed to hold for the whole conversation is gone, replaced by a fierce scowl. He’s got nothing over Bruce and he knows it too. Judging by the look of pure frustration in his eyes, Bruce reckons it’s the first time in his life, he’s ever been the little guy._ _

__Thor gets to his feet (and Bruce was right, he barely puts any weight on his right leg) and glares at him as he slowly walks backwards towards the front door._ _

__“Well far be it from me to remain unwelcome in another’s home” Thor says as he pulls the door open and a chilly breeze rolls inside._ _

__“Even if he is no more than a beast” he mutters as he steps outside and into the darkness, the door slamming shut behind him._ _

__Bruce stands there for a moment, finally at peace in the quiet of his own bedroom. Then what Thor had told him finally sinks in – the Hulk had gone on a rampage, he’d destroyed private property, he’d reached the town, he may have been seen._ _

__He half falls back down onto his bed, holding his head in his hands. He has a headache and hunger pains in his stomach, his eyes are irritated and he’s exhausted. He always feels this way afterwards but everytime it seems worse somehow. If he had any energy at all he’d scream in frustration or throw a chair across the room or something._ _

__Instead he stands up, walks into the kitchen, grabs a stale croissant from a paper bag and chews on it without tasting anything. When he’s done he stares blankly at the newspaper that seems to be from so long ago lying crumpled on the dusty floor. The only sounds in the whole forest seem to be his own pathetic sniffling. He lets out a heavy sigh and pinches his nose._ _

____0 days without an incident. _____ _ __


	5. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished a couple of chapters so I have two to upload today! Thanks again to everyone who's been reading and thanks for the comments and kudos etc. Hope you are liking it so far :)

It’s a dull day. No breeze of any sort to shake the grass and leaves in the comforting way that Bruce has become accustomed to. What little sunlight breaks through the dark blanket of clouds fails to make it through the thick foliage overhead. The air is heavy and wet. It’s textbook calm before a storm.

Bruce munches lazily on his dry, tasteless, joyless cereal while he debates what to do. He could make his way into town and quickly get some shopping done and be back before the bad weather is in full swing, but then he runs the risk of being caught outside in it. On top of that he’s really been postponing his next trip, after all, it was the only the night before last that he’d had his little ‘Incident’ and he’s really not sure he wants to deal with the fallout of that just yet.  
On the other hand he could stay here and be certain to avoid both the storm and any angry townspeople; he has enough food in stock to make do. Granted that food is whatever knock-off cereal brand he is eating that is probably made from the same stuff it’s packaged with. He could live off this for potentially a few days. He casts a glance back outside. He looks back at his bowl. Town it is.

* * *

By the time Bruce gets into town he’s panting a little heavily from his brusque pace. He stops and leans against the doorway for just a moment to catch his breath – all right he’s kind of panting **a lot** heavily, but it’s not his fault that hitting the gym hasn’t been a priority for him recently, he’s already ‘on the run’ in one way too many. He breathes in deeply: he’s just a minute away from the small supermarket and it’s still early in the morning, as long as he’s quick he should be able to get there unseen, grab the essentials, and get out of dodge. He straightens up, cracks his knuckles gets ready to continue his power walk in 3…2…1…

“Oh hello!”

Bruce nearly jumps high enough to rival the Other Guy. Hand over his heart he spins around to the now-open door of the building he’d been resting against. Standing there is a young man whom he had met several times now since moving here – the Librarian.

“Were you waiting to come in? The library is open now.” The librarian is young and clean shaven, with crisply ironed shirt, and a pair of wire rimmed glasses. His aesthetic is well suited to his career. His chattiness however, is not. On the numerous occasions that Bruce had visited the library he’d realised that the man had excellent English and he seemed to only delight in the opportunity to practice it with another person. Bruce enjoys their conversations and he hates to disappoint the man now with the explanation that - no he was not eagerly waiting outside for the library to open, he was just unfit.

“Yes of course!” He answers, because he’s a dumbass, and follows the other man inside.

“I have books, I think you would like?” says the librarian gesturing enthusiastically to a pile of slim books stacked neatly on the desk “They are in French, but mostly for children. They are simple to read but still interesting!” He picks one up and flicks through the pages, displaying large text and colourful illustrations.

“Oh, thank you, merci!” says Bruce “But you don’t have to do that for me, I’m sure you’re busy enough.”

“No, no, not recently,” says the younger man “it has been very quiet. Of course, this is understandable, because people are much more interested in the mystery happening in town!”  
Bruce grits his teeth- and there it is.

“What’s that?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

“Oh you have not heard? Let me tell you! Some farmers say they have seen a monster!” the librarian chuckles “Destroying their fences and scaring livestock. We are very superstitious here you must know.”  
“That’s terrible. Probably just vandals though.” Bruce mutters, doing his best to hide his frustration, what had he expected? That he could just Hulk out and do some property damage and nobody would notice?

“Yes, yes, I agree, but these men are sure. A giant they say! Very strange.”  
Bruce nods in agreement, deciding it best to keep his mouth firmly shut. 

“They say there was one in America and now they are thinking there is even one here!” the librarian continues on – he was a nice guy but right now Bruce wishes he was maybe a bit less chatty.

“And if it is vandals, then who?” and on, and on, and on he goes “everyone here knows each other, no one would do this to their neighbour! And you are the only stranger in town but forgive me, we don’t think this giant could be you!” the librarian gives a hearty laugh. Bruce performs his best polite, fake laugh.

He debates the best way to put an end to the conversation before just settling on an awkward “Thank you again but I should probably get going”. The other man doesn’t seem to mind, after all he’s given Bruce some pretty decent gossip, where does a conversation go from ‘monster sightings in this very small town’.

He rushes to the shop and wastes no time gathering the essentials, tinned and dried food mostly - he plans on staying put in the woods for a while. He does of course splash out on a couple bars of chocolate as a treat though as well as grabbing a handful of disposable rain ponchos that look like they might come in handy. 

He’s barely in the shop for 15 minutes but by the time he emerges the rain has started pouring down – he pulls on one of the ponchos and prepares for a dash back to the cottage. He runs awkwardly with his shopping bags back through the streets, splashing through puddles and squinting through the drizzle that's getting progressively worse. By the time he arrives back at the cottage, his socks are soaked inside his shoes, his clothes are sticking to him and his teeth are chattering. He thinks about wrapping himself up in his threadbare blanket and sitting in front of his rusted electric heater while he starts in on a kids storybook. It sounds like heaven. 

He’s just put all off his shopping away neatly when the sound of the rain pattering down is drowned out by a distant rumble of thunder. It sounds far enough way right now, but Bruce knows that it won't be long at all before the worst of it hits.

_’But at least I’m indoors’_ Bruce thinks as he’s starts pulling off his poncho, before suddenly something the librarian had said earlier stops him dead in his tracks. The man had only mentioned it in the passing and Bruce had been so focused on what he was saying about the Hulk that he hadn’t even realized what it meant. 

‘ _You’re the only stranger in town_ ’ he had said. Bruce knew the librarian was the sort of guy who knew everything and everyone in town, after all he’d had all the news about the Hulk sighting. 

But he didn’t know about Thor.

So Thor hadn’t been in the town.

So Thor was still out in the woods.

Bruce lets out a deep, pained groan and hopes he’s wrong. Maybe Thor was in the town and he'd just not drawn enough attention for the librarian to know about him? Impossible, no way that guy wouldn't have been noticed. And he knows the town is too remote for the man to have reached anywhere else safe. So Thor is definitely still out in the woods. 

In the escalating thunder storm.

Typical.

Bruce would love nothing more than to be selfish right now, to be petty and spiteful. He really would. It would be nice to just say ‘ _meh. Not my problem._ ’ And sit down and read his book. It would be lovely. Delightful. Spectacular.

It would be wrong.

Bruce leaves his poncho on, grabs a flashlight from beside his bed, and heads back out the door into the wind and rain.


	6. The Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took ages and it's nearly the length of the whole fic so far! Hope you like it! Fair disclaimer - I know nothing about French geography

“The day you were born was one of the finest Asgard had seen in a very long time” his mother had told him many years ago, as she tucked him into bed.

“It was sunny and warm and there was not a cloud in the sky. The people were overjoyed, they celebrated the lovely weather with garden parties and everyone was singing and dancing and drinking, why your father and I were delighted that even the Healers had shown up!”

“And then…” and she had paused and given him a mockingly stern look “you came along. Thor, I think you took one look around and your first thought in this world was: where are all my admirers? Where are all my adoring new friends? Why has no one come to congratulate me on being born?”

“And then you started _wailing_ , oh Thor it was so loud! The sound of it echoed throughout the whole realm like thunder! And then in a few minutes the skies had darkened and the rain came pouring down and there was no more garden parties. Of course after that everyone was talking about you, you were the centre of all the attention! You were happy and quiet then!”  
She had tickled under his chin and kissed his forehead and he remembers the sound of his own childish giggles; it was a fine bed time story, however true it was. It had always made him feel proud of his talents, Loki could do tricks and illusions but he could _control the weather_ , that was special, no one else in Asgard could do it; the clouds, the rain, the sunshine, the wind, the _thunder_ all belonged to him.

It was something to think about now, as Thor sat in the shelter of an old oak, hiding from the downpour, soaked to the shivering bone. He sat there, willing the rain to stop and the sky to clear but nothing changed no matter how hard he tried. It wasn’t even as if the power was hidden from him, locked behind a door he couldn’t open, it was just gone. Gone, completely out of his reach, out of his sight, out of him.

He doesn’t jump or flinch when the lightning flashes across the sky but he does feel a bitterness at the clap of thunder that fills the forest shortly after it, something just slightly off about it, like someone is doing a bad impression of his voice. He knows it’s irrational, he’s just never heard thunder that wasn’t his before. He also knows that sitting beside a tall tree in the middle of a thunderstorm is a bad idea, knows that he’s much better off trying to find shelter elsewhere now before it gets any worse.

He grips a low hanging branch and uses it to lift himself, grimacing at the pain that shoots through his knee as he does so. It had become more red and swollen since the last night, when he had had his encounter with the green monster. It had been a bizarre experience, seeing the smaller man transform into a giant, and in the rush of it all Thor had not realized his new limitations and had confronted the beast; he had after all, fought much bigger ones. He would not admit how lucky he was that the man had simply swiped him away like a fly, sending him hurtling into the bushes, landing awkwardly on his own leg. It had been an even worse blow to his pride however, to lay there in silence until the beast left. By the time he had dusted himself off and tracked him down, the monster had reverted back into the man, and Thor had been able to haul the unconscious fellow back to a small abandoned dwelling for questioning.

And then Thor had lost another fight before it had even begun.

And things had only gone from bad to worse – he’s been out in the open for nearly two days and he’s barely slept or eaten and he still hasn’t found Mjolnir.

He moves slowly through the forest, both because it’s hard to put any weight whatsoever on his sore leg and he can barely see a few metres ahead of him for how heavily the rain is falling now. He limps carefully, avoiding any slippery patches of mud and leaves. He thinks if he can make it to the mountainous higher ground he might find a cave or even a decent cliff face to shelter in.

With a goal set it’s easier to keep going. Steadily he puts one foot in front of the other and grabs the branches that scratch at his arms and face for balance until eventually he reaches out for one and only touches empty air. Straightening up as best he can and wiping the water from his eyes he looks around. He has found himself in a large clearing, steeper, rockier ground where barely even grass grows, he knows he is on the right track at least.

He’s about to get moving again, before he can allow himself to feel tired when the whole forest is suddenly lit alight by a massive fork of lightning right overhead, and in the second that it lasts, shows his bleary eyes what they had just managed to miss. There, amongst the jagged, moss covered rocks there is a glint of metal, one that cannot be found in this realm, metal that was forged into a weapon in the heart of a dying star. Mjolnir.

Despite the cold and the wet and the tiredness Thor manages to drop his jaw in delight and laugh. Mjolnir rests right in front of him, a few meagre steps until it is within his reach. Shown to him by the lightning in the sky. Was this all his punishment was? To wallow in misery and hurt alone in the woods for a few days? To be humbled in combat by a strange shape-shifting man?

‘ _Is that all?_ ’ he is tempted to shout to the All-father ‘ _This was not so hard!_ ’ He holds his tongue. He supposes that means he has learned a lesson after all. He wastes no more time, he musters the energy to move quickly across the clearing, over the uneven ground and bends over to grab Mjolnir’s handle from where the hammer protrudes from splintered rock. And then he pulls.

And he pulls.

And again with both hands.

He pulls as hard as he possibly can, digging both feet into the ground though it pains him to.

He pulls with all of his might, teeth grinding together as he grimaces, a coppery taste in his mouth when he bites his own cheek with the force.

And yet Mjolnir does not budge.

He lets go and slumps to the ground defeated, and though he knows he lets out a roar of pain and sorrow and frustration he can’t hear it over the booming of thunder that fills the sky.

He stays there on his knees out in the open as he struggles to process what this means. How is he to get home now? Without Mjolnir, without his powers, he is trapped in this weak, mortal form. He could age as quickly as a Midgardian does and perish down here, before Odin decides to forgive him. He could die here in these woods, in this storm. 

He is scared.

He should beg, here on his knees he should plead that the All-Father take pity on him, he should cry out to the Gatekeeper for help, he should _do_ something but no words come to him. He knows that if he were to try and speak right now his voice would come out shaky and weak, he can feel it in the way his lip trembles and his eyes water. Right now he seems to himself a truly sad image of a warrior, a prince, a god.

“It was so cruel to put the hammer within your reach knowing that you could never lift it.”

Thor lifts his head and gazes through the torrent of water, and no his ears do not deceive him - there stands his brother.

“Loki…what are you doing here?” he says in disbelief, thrown at seeing a familiar face in such unfamiliar circumstances.

“I had to see you.” Loki steps closer to him and Thor can see that his face is downcast and he can hear something in Loki’s voice, a hesitancy that is unusual for him. Something’s wrong.

“What happened? Is it Jotunheim? Let me explain to father.” 

“Father is dead.”

Thor stares at his brother. Father couldn’t be dead. Nothing could kill the All-father, this was surely just another of Loki’s tricks, he so often said such horrible things, just to see the looks on people’s faces, to see them in discomfort and distress.

“What?”

“Your banishment, the threat of a new war, it was too much for him to bear.” Loki’s eyes are watery, his voice hoarse, his typical smirk replaced by a sombre expression.

“You mustn’t blame yourself. I know that you loved him. I tried to tell him so but he wouldn’t listen.” He’s telling the truth. Thor shakes his head silently, jaw clenched tight as salty tears start to stream down his cheeks, camouflaged with the rainwater.

“The burden of the throne has fallen to me now.”

Thor wishes he could feel a stab of jealousy at that, a pang of humiliation; but nothing can shake the icy shock and grief from his mind. But maybe there is a glimmer of hope there after all – Loki is his brother, his friend, and now he has the power to end his punishment.

“Can I come home?” he asks, his voice soft and more fragile than it has ever been. Loki looks at him, expressionless, unblinking, before he speaks again.

“The truce with Jotunheim is conditional upon your exile.”

“Yes but couldn’t we find a way…” Thor speaks quickly, panic setting in, this couldn’t be permanent, father wouldn’t have done that to him.

“Mother has forbidden your return.”

That quiets Thor, quells his panic and replaces it with something much worse. His mother hated him. He was to blame for his father’s death. He had endangered all of Asgard. If he had eaten in the past couple of days he might have been sick. 

Loki, watches as Thor’s breath hitches and he struggles to find words; pitying him. “This is goodbye brother. I am so sorry.” He says, and he seems to be holding back emotion as well, does he hate Thor too? Does he blame him? He had told him not to go to Jotunheim after all, he had known no good would come of it. Thor should have listened.

“No. I am sorry. Thank you for coming here.” Thor says, and he means it.

Loki turns as if to leave before he turns around and after giving Thor another painfully sorrow filled look, speaks again. “There should be a cave up past those trees” he says, gesturing vaguely to Thor’s right “get in out of this storm – things are only going to get worse.” He looks away from Thor then, no longer able to even look at him “Farewell.”

Thor picks himself up off the muddy ground and stumbles to the edge of the clearing, balancing precariously against a sapling, he turns back to Loki, who avoids eye contact, looking instead to where Mjolnir lies abandoned amongst the rocks.

“Goodbye.” Thor says and he walks away.

* * *

Loki releases Mjolnir’s handle, mouth pursed in frustration as he readjusts his robes, expression real and unguarded now that his brother has left.

It’s just a hammer, just a tool. He doesn’t need it for what is to come.

He breathes slowly and calls upon his magic. He makes no dramatic flourish, just slight subtle movements of the fingertips to manipulate it, to shape thin air into something else, not real but not nothing.   
The air shimmers with an unnatural green glow as it twists and darkens, it grows claws and fangs and fur, it snarls and it snaps.   
With a final twist of his wrist Loki finishes the illusion of the creature, shadow dark with piercing green eyes, vicious and violent as it was designed to be. It stands before him silently, awaiting its orders.

“Ensure my brother does not return.”

* * *

Thor probably wouldn’t have found the cave if Loki hadn’t directed him to it, even when pointed in the right direction it had taken him a while to locate it, eventually doing so at the top of a rather steep slope. It was well obscured, the mouth of it covered by thorny bushes and weeds. After clambering up the muddy hill and pushing his way in past the unwelcoming foliage, filthy and covered in scratches, he finds that the cave is tiny – just a few feet deep and less than that high, barely enough to sit up straight; but its enough, and Thor is finally able to sit down and rest, safe from the elements.

He breathes out onto his numb hands as he rubs his fingertips together to get feeling back into them, with only limited success, which otherwise would worry him, but right now he has more pressing matters on his mind.

Like how Loki can’t help him.

Like how his mother doesn’t want to see him again.

Like how his father is dead because of him.

Like how it is his fate, for all intents and purposes, to die here cold and alone on Midgard.

He doesn’t know how to fix this, probably because there is nothing. This is a disaster of his own making, his punishment is undoubtedly fitting.

He can’t think about this right now. He’s too exhausted to process it. Instead he peers out through the thicket to the tempest outside; he’s only climbed just high enough to be looking down on the tip of the tallest tree. It had felt a lot more. He watches as the leaves bend under the stream of water, as they shake in the wind. It’s difficult to see all that much, and even harder to hear. That is until for just a moment, there is the slightest lull in the thunder and he hears a not too distant call.

“ **Thor!** ”

He snaps to full awareness immediately and moves to clear his view only to flinch back at a sudden beam of light shining directly into his eyes. He rises to his feet and looks down the hill to see the source of it and there – a figure is climbing up towards him, torch of some sort in hand. Who was it that would know his name except…Thor squints at the man, realising it to be the same one from the other night, the shapeshifter.

Thor is completely baffled, why would he be calling out for him? Why would he be out in this storm in the first place? He’s close enough now that Thor can see him shouting something else, though he cannot hear him this time. What was it the man had said his name was…Banner?

Thor starts moving down to meet him halfway when he catches sight of movement over Banner’s shoulder, emerging from the cover of the woods and hurtling towards Banner, who is looking down at something else, completely unaware.

“ **Look out!** ”

* * *

It had taken Bruce a while to find Thor's trail, but when he did it had been very easy to follow –and the man had poked fun at the Hulk for being easy to track down. He followed the haphazard footsteps and the broken branches all the way uphill. Thor was clever enough then, heading away from the trees to find a more sheltered area up the mountain.

Bruce is forced to scramble up a steep incline of slippery mud on his hands and knees. He pauses for a moment to wipe his glasses and see where he is going, casting the beam of his flashlight around wildly, before he spies something. At the top of the hill, concealed by brambles and briars, the mouth of a small cave. That has to be where Thor is.

“ **Thor!** ” he calls out over the roaring wind, and points his light onto the opening of the cave. There’s a moments wait before there’s movement behind the bushes and he sees a man crawl out and get to his feet. Thor.

“ **Come on!** ” he shouts to him “ **We need to go!** ” His voice barely carries and Thor stares blankly, but at least he starts moving towards him, stepping carefully down the slope. As he gets closer Bruce is glad he came to get him, he really doesn’t look he’s had a great couple of days, face scratched and clothes soaked and muddy.

Bruce looks away from him when he notices his flashlight begin to flicker and fade. "Damn it." he mutters, slapping it against the palm of his hand. He’d only just put new batteries in this thing a few days ago, how could-

“ **Look out!** ” Bruce hears Thor bellow and in the split second it takes him to look up, the other man has sprinted down the hill; he grabs him by the shoulders and tackles him to the ground. They both slide down the hill, landing in a heap at the bottom. Bruce rolls over onto his hands and knees, catching his breath and calming himself. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Thor stagger to his feet, facing back up to where they had just been.

“What the hell?!” Bruce snaps at his turned back, striding over to him “you could have-“

Bruce cuts himself off as he sees what Thor is staring at, there, crouched on the slope, dark fur glistening in the rain, teeth and gums bared, and unnatural green eyes locked onto the two of them, is an enormous black wolf.

“Do not move.” Thor says, barely a whisper, slowly raising his arms and tapping at Bruce’s with the back of his hand “Just…”

The wolf springs at them, snarling viciously. Bruce and Thor dive out of its way, once again landing roughly in the mud; it soars over their heads and blocks their escape route into the forest, leaving them on the side of the slope. Bruce is on his feet in an instant, Thor on the other hand, is still on the ground, struggling to find his.

‘ _No way we can run._ ’ Bruce realises and looks around for anything he can use to defend themselves, eyes settling on a heavy looking branch. He snatches it up and holds it like a bat, watching the wolf cautiously where it prowls just a few metres away. It walks in a semi-circle around them, and though Bruce is the one who is armed (for lack of a better word) – all of its intention is focused on Thor, still on his hands and knees. ‘ _Easier target_ ’ his mind supplies, but there seems to be something else about it, something he can’t quite pinpoint.

The wolf has dropped its shoulders and its fangs are bared – it’s preparing to pounce. In a moment of madness Bruce decides he should be the one on the offensive. Because it’s that kind of a day.

“Hulk.” He says aloud as he tightens his grip “If I’m wrong…feel free to step in.” 

He brings the branch up and swings downwards as hard as he can as he runs at the wild animal, catching it in the back as it darts out of his way. He swings at it again and again without aim, only managing to clip it or brush it, not doing any real damage. Sometimes the branch looks like it’s going to connect but then seems to pass right through, as if the creature is made of smoke.

He swings again, but he’s tired and getting slow and he misses completely. The wolf takes its chance and throws itself at him, bowling him over so that Bruce falls uncontrolled, head slamming against a hard rock and stars filling his vision. When his head clears he finds the wolf is pinning him down with two huge paws, drool dripping onto his face from its gleaming teeth. Bruce feels his blood begin to burn and his head begin to pound as the Hulk begins his takeover. Bruce can practically feel the Other Guy’s scream in his throat when the wolf suddenly lets out a sharp yelp and dives off of him, tail low. The Hulk immediately quietens inside his head as the threat disappears.

Bruce rolls onto his side and looks back to where Thor is kneeling at the base of the slope, a rock the size of his own head in his right hand, eyes following the movement of the wolf as it skulks around. Thor flings the rock at it and it yelps again as it is struck in the neck. It doesn’t run though, just continues its stalking. Bruce is no zoologist but he knows that’s not normal behaviour, this wolf should have been scared off, shouldn’t be trying to hunt two humans who are both fighting it, shouldn’t even be out in a storm like this, shouldn’t even be in this area... What the hell is going on?

Bruce is torn from his confusion when the wolf lunges at Thor again and this time Thor has another rock in hand and he rises to meet the animal, swiping upwards with the rock and colliding it harshly with its jaw. The wolf doesn’t stop however, knocking Thor just as easily as it had Bruce and the two go tumbling backwards into the trees, out of Bruce’s sight.

“Thor!” he shouts, tearing after them. He can’t see them, not in the darkness of the wood and the torrential rain but he can hear them, can hear the wolf’s ferocious snarling and snapping teeth and Thor’s shouts and grunts as he wrestles with the animal. Bruce stumbles over tree roots and weeds, a searing pain in the back of his head as he struggles to get to them.

He finally finds them in a small rocky clearing, arrives just in time to see Thor on his back holding the wolf at bay by the neck as he kicks at its chest with one leg. The wolf is knocked backwards but is quickly back on its feet rushing towards him. Thor uses both hands to heave a massive rock from the ground, raises it above his head and brings it down, just as the wolf attacks, powerful jaws wide open, sights set on Thor’s neck.

The whole forest is suddenly left both deaf and blind by a concurrent strike of lightning and thunder that seem to last for a lifetime. It probably lasts less than a second. But either way when the brilliant white light is gone Thor stands alone in the clearing, the wolf having seemingly disappeared into the shadows.

He stands there panting heavily, neck and chest are bloody and scratched, shirt left in tatters. He drops the rock back down and looks up at Bruce for a split second before his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses to the ground.

‘Oh crap’ Bruce thinks, moving forward to help him, but his own legs only make it a few strides before they buckle underneath him and his own mind goes black as he passes out.

And the two of them lie unconscious on the frigid stony ground, rain hammering down on top of them as the worst of the storm reaches overhead.

* * *

Bruce comes to on the dusty floor of the cottage, barefoot and shirtless. 

Thor lies beside him, breathing shallow and dead to the world. But at least he’s inside. 

Sitting up and rubbing his pulsing temples Bruce can see that the front door hangs open, chunks knocked out of the frame and the lock snapped. Outside, leading to the door are large, deep footprints, rapidly filling with rainwater.

“Thanks Hulk...” he says, a bit shocked but plenty pleased.

He looks down at the unconscious man on his kitchen floor.

“...I’ve got it from here.”


End file.
